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He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Gentle
Sea
Though
Shipwreck
Upon
Gale
Seas
Suffered
Sail
Fears

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Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
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For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
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A winning wave, (deserving note.) In the tempestuous petticote, A careless shoe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility,-- Doe more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup I'll drink to the garlands around it But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
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I dare not ask a kiss I dare not beg a smile Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.
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Let wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift 'T is haste Makes waste Extremes have still their fault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slipp'ry sand, Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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You say to me-wards your affection's strong Pray love me little, so you love me long.
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